Unheroic Simile

It was like love, the bite of that splinter,
when the pick’s handle snaked across
my palm driving in an inch of hickory.

There wasn’t much to do. The wet ditch was still
half dug we needed to lay the piping through.
I put my wound against the wood and heaved again.

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This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , by A. Miller. Bookmark the permalink.

About A. Miller

ALEX MILLER JR. is a staff writer for The Curator and the co-author of A Bow From My Shadow, a collection of poems written in dialogue with Luke Irwin. His essays and poems have appeared in The Conversation, Transpositions, Pif, The Curator, The Denver Syntax, Lake Effect, and ken*again. He is an adjunct professor of Western literature at Gordon College in Wenham, Mass., and high school English and Rhetoric teacher. He lives in Beverly, Mass. You can follow him on Twitter: @miller_jr.

2 thoughts on “Unheroic Simile

    • Jake! You are very kind. Glad to have your eyes on this stuff. We are long overdue for a talk. Let’s fix that soon.

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